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BREAKFAST WITH her mother was a thing Maelys indulged in every morrow. The gentle clinking of silver against porcelain, the soft murmur of conversation—it was the quietest part of Maelys' day, and the most cherished. Alicent Hightower, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, was a cold woman to most, her demeanor sharp and measured, always burdened by the weight of her position. But when it came to Maelys, her youngest daughter, there was a warmth that few ever saw. A warmth that was reserved only for her.
In the mornings, before the castle truly stirred with the business of court and politics, Maelys could pretend she was just a girl sharing a simple meal with her mother, not a princess shackled to the heavy expectations of her birthright. The sun filtered through the high windows of Alicent's chambers, casting a golden hue over the table set with fruits, bread, and honey.
Aegon was the aftermath of duty, Maelys knew. Her mother had often spoken of it, in veiled words and quiet sighs. Aegon was the heir, the son meant to carry on the Targaryen legacy. His existence was like a looming shadow, a reminder of the weight of the crown that rested on her mother's head. And though Alicent loved him, there was a distance—a separation between mother and heir, a chasm filled with duty and expectations that could never be bridged by affection alone.
Aemond was the spare, the second son who lived in the shadow of his older brother. He was fierce and calculating, always seeking to prove his worth, to show he was more than just a second choice. Alicent saw it, the fire that burned behind Aemond's cool exterior, but even with him, the distance remained. Duty had shaped their relationships, had created walls that could not be easily scaled.
Helaena was the betrothed, her path already decided for her. Alicent loved her too, but there was something more distant, almost resigned, in the way she spoke of her. Helaena had her role, her future mapped out before her. A future that felt more like a sentence than a gift.
But Maelys—Maelys was hers. Her little Maelys. The one bright spot in a world ruled by obligation and sacrifice. A girl untouched by the crushing expectations placed upon her siblings. When Alicent looked at Maelys, she saw the child she could still hold close, the daughter who had not yet been swallowed by the weight of the throne or the Targaryen legacy.
"My sweet girl," Alicent whispered, her voice softer than it ever was in court. She reached out, brushing a stray lock of silver-blonde hair from Maelys' face, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "You remind me so much of myself when I was your age."
Maelys smiled, though she could see the sadness that lingered in her mother's eyes. There was something unspoken between them, a knowledge that one day, the same weight that pressed down on Alicent would find its way to her daughter's shoulders. But for now, they could pretend it wouldn't.
Alicent lifted her teacup, her fingers delicate around the fine porcelain. "There are so few mornings like this," she said, a wistful note in her voice. "Where it is just the two of us."
